by Kate Gray
hadn’t forgotten the look on Macconnach’s face at the end of his speech apparently.
Discomfit, for certain, but also pain had lingered on that man’s face. Ranajit was always uneasy about things to which he could not put a certain explanation; the minds of Englishmen were usually at the forefront of his unease.
Abington saw the disquiet of the other man, and smiled. He felt certain where Ranajit did not.
“My good man, I can assure you that he will be, if not overjoyed, at least intrigued by this task.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Between you and me, I believe they are both protesting against some invented force between them, but I have a father’s instinct that all will work out the way it ought.”
ॐ
The sun was setting as the horses were brought into the rear courtyard the next evening. This area was built into the private quarters which the general and his daughter enjoyed, and was separate from view to the rest of the stables.
It was a deliberate choice on the part of the general, who wanted as few questions as possible regarding the major’s departure. As a precaution, he had also instructed Isabel to come out disguised in clothing that would give her the appearance of being a young soldier riding along with Macconnach.
Isabel’s absence would be explained in a day or so, necessitated by a visit to Kolkata, or some other destination. The ball season was nearly upon them, and provided the excuse; she had a half dozen or more invitations that she had been ignoring.
Someone could play her part in an early morning departure, and hopefully, no-one would make a broad leap of assumption.
Abington had shown the pistol to Macconnach, with strict instruction to teach Isabel at the earliest opportunity. The major had looked over the little weapon with a doubtful eye.
He was recollecting a dagger flashing in his face that first night, and wondered if the general knew that his daughter carried such an item. He said nothing, however, and agreed to give her the lessons.
A knife had its uses. A firearm at least increased the distance, if only by a little in this case, between a person and an attacker. It was also a bit easier to pull a trigger than it was to actually push a blade into someone’s ribs.
He ought to know, he’d had opportunity to find that out, as anyone who had fought with fixed bayonet would.
“Is there anything else you’d like her to know? Shall I progress her to the rifle if she has the inclination?”
“Oh, good lord. What a thought. I suppose so, although I should hope you know by now she has a bit of a temper, especially if you condescend to her.” Abington was kneading his brow, and missed Macconnach’s heaven-raised expression.
“I have had brief occasion to observe it, sir. I shall take care to avoid her wrath.”
“Ah-ha, only brief occasion! Luck is surely on your side. She may seem a strange sort to you, but she has a fine mind.”
“Oh, I’ve had occasion to see that at work as well. If you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir, Miss Alderton has something of a finely diabolical mind, and it may give her some trouble unless she can learn a modicum of caution.”
Macconnach was not entirely at ease saying this, but his pride still stung a bit from her expressions of doubt. He knew, simply from experience, that doubt was a regular reaction to his work, but he’d thought that after she had seen him at it…. Abington was staring at him cannily.
“You must understand how difficult life can be for a young woman of intellect and, er, ardent spirit. We live in a society that has assigned her a role, and cares not at all that she has no aspirations toward it.”
He sighed, stroking the jaw of his daughter’s black mare. “It is inescapable for some, but I have no doubt that she would live a misery as the wife of a typical man. I may be a fool for it, but if I have the means to prevent that life for her, I shall.”
Macconnach started when he heard the emphasis the general put on those last few words. He swallowed. For some odd reason, the image of Isabel Alderton’s eyes rose up, even as he recalled how they had flashed as she had deftly put that dagger to his throat. It was going to be a long journey.
As if she knew she was being discussed, Isabel finally made her appearance. She was clad in breeches, and jacket, with a wool capelet hiding any unmasculine lines on her body. She had tied back her hair in the fashion of a young man, and was turning over a shako in her hands.
Abington was smiling at the sight of her, as if considering possibilities that could never be. Macconnach found himself trying not to linger too long over the sight of her legs.
He could not ever remember a time when he had actually laid eye on a young lady’s legs. He found he was holding his breath, and had to let it out slowly, as not to make a sizeable noise.
“Papa, I fail to see how this hat thing will stay on my head. It tips about when I put it on.”
“Never mind, Isabel.” Abington took the shako from her hands, and expertly settled it. For a further moment, Hugh Abington allowed himself the illusion of his child in uniform, and then shook it off. “Take heed, and pray, do not argue with the major overmuch.”
“I have promised to…behave, if you like.”
“I do not ask for that as much as for you to have faith in him, of any sort. He deserves that much.”
“That word is being bandied about quite a bit of late. I do hope that I will soon discover what it is I am to have faith in.”
Her conscience pricked at her as the image of Macconnach’s shirtless chest bobbed up in her thoughts. She looked over her costume frowningly, flicking at invisible dust, as she tried to banish the thought away.
“Have care in what you wish for. Is that not the warning given when someone hopes for vague things?” He smiled, and patted her arm firmly. “Try to keep in mind that you are meant to be a young man to any observant eyes. And take this. The major will give you some instruction at an appropriate juncture.”
Isabel looked down at the little pistol being placed in her leather gloved hand.
“Oh, Papa, really. It seems a bit ridiculous….”
“Safety is not ridiculous. Needless death is.” With that, he turned back to the major, who saluted briskly. “Safe travels, safe returns, yes? Get on with you, then.”
Macconnach turned to his own mount, a dark grey stallion he’d had for many years. Actually, he was a white stallion, but Macconnach had learned some time ago that a white horse, no matter its intelligence or swiftness, was an easy mark for an enemy.
Regular application of dye was done, but the black wouldn’t take terribly well, so Bran was grey. Isabel watched from a respectable distance while Macconnach spoke into his steed’s ear. After a few minutes she began to express her impatience in a series of light tappings of her foot. Finally, she spoke.
“Giving orders, are we? Equines are an admirable species, major, but not given to human speech.”
“Who says I was speaking in a human tongue, Miss Alderton?” He sprang into his saddle and rode past her, refusing to make eye contact.
Isabel harrumphed at being teased and clucked softly at her mare, who sighed the sigh of a horse who knows when common sense is being flouted.
“Come along, Lizzy, we must keep the boys in check.” Lizzy had her doubts about such aspirations, but broke into a canter to catch up Macconnach and not be left too far behind. The young mare did not like to be left in the rear, that much was certain.
ॐ
Once out of sight from the encampment, Isabel stripped off the cape, and stuffed it into a saddlebag. She was soaked through already, stifled as she was in two layers of shirtsleeves, and coat over that.
Water helped a bit, though she would have far preferred to pour it down her front. Sadly, such things were not possible for her, although she had seen soldiers do it often enough. Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to those days gone by.
After the boxing fiasco, when she’d been banned from the ranks, as it were. Determined not to be left out, she’d traded Alex her best sewing kit
for his toy spyglass. Then, she had spent every free moment watching the men at drill and recreation.
Learning how to do things from afar had been an interesting challenge to her mind. The real test had come when she’d wanted to learn how to load and clean a rifle. Alex had always been her co-conspirator, so long as she was willing to sit and be his model, or test subject.
She still had a small scar on the back of her neck from his experimentations in hair color, so she rather thought he’d gotten the easy end of the arrangement. All he’d had to do was beg for all the toy instruments of destruction that boys were plied with, the ones that were supposed to make them into men.
Together, they had played Barbary pirates, Napoleon versus Wellington, anything which had let her practice the skills she had learned. Usually it had meant that Alex would be lazing about as “Boney-part,” eating sweets. Else feeding their mother’s little dogs until they were fat and wheezing. Isabel would strut, making speeches or commanding her dolls to overtake some hill of blankets and pillows.
At the moment, however, she was tugging at the collars of what she wore, wondering how it was that men could ever actually get to the business of war if they were so uncomfortable in uniform. Or perhaps that was why there were so many wars.
They were all simply in a state of constant ill-temper, and needed an outlet. She jokingly thought she ought to tell Alex to design comfortable uniforms with the thought of world peace as
